


umbrella man

by chiyokintou



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Coffee, Coffee Shops, E-mail, London, M/M, Oneshot, jeanmarco, marcojean - Freeform, yumikuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 23:05:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8346316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiyokintou/pseuds/chiyokintou
Summary: 10-18-16Marco Bodt,  I would like to apologize for stealing your umbrella. I am usually not the kind of person to go stealing someone’s stuff, then again I’m not someone to write an apology letter either (even if I did steal something). Yet here I am, writing you.10-21-16Dear Marco, You forgot your umbrella at my place. It’s standing next to my door, again. I’m usually not the kind of person to write mails like this but then again, I’m also not the kind of person to fall in love on a first date. Shit happens.  I stole your umbrella and you stole my everything. That doesn’t seem very fair fair.





	

 

Everyone who had checked knew it. Everyone who hadn’t didn’t. This was because the sky had seemed as blue as it could be a while ago. An indian summer. Red leafs and sun in contrast with the blue sky. I loved days like this, and I hoped that the expected weather was a lie, still I went out prepared. 

I had been working on a new translation for hours. Working at home sometimes seemed harder than working in an office could be. In an office you know when you have time off because you leave, when you go home you can forget your work easily and you don’t feel the need to work at night. I love my work, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes keeping work and my personal life apart was hard. As a single my spare hours were not spent in someone’s arms, like I had once spend them. Now I spend them reading, writing or cooking. Can that really be considered as spare time if your work is to translate books though?

I lived in an old house in sweet rainy London, which I shared with two others so we all had one floor to call our own. On my floor I stood day in day out, writing and talking to myself in Italian. Just to see if the Italian words I had chosen still seemed natural once I said them out loud. They always did. I hate to say it like this but.. I was one of the only people who translated English to Italian with the right amount of Creative writing like I did. I was one of a kind in my field. I was never short on jobs nor money. 

On that day - the one that looked like an indian summer day- I went out to get some coffee. My eyes had been staring at a computer for so long that it felt as if they wouldn’t even close if I tried. It was one of those days in which my house meant work and if which outside meant Autumn. I chose the later with a brief look at my phone to see that, indeed, there would be rain in half an hour. This was no surprising news. Like I said before, I lived in London. 

With my closed umbrella in my hand I started walking to my favourite coffee shop. It was one with old an old facade and lovely Jazz music playing. Most people just walked in and out, because the spot was quite convenient too, but I liked to sit down and sit for an hour or such.  That was my real break. 

When I was almost at the coffeeshop the rain was already starting, but it wasn’t enough to make me bother to open my umbrella. A few drips on my nose, a few on my hair and some on my jackets that was waterproof anyway.  But even though I didn’t get wet, the warmth that the shop brought was lovely. “Good afternoon” 

“Hello” I mumbled as I left my umbrella next to the door and watched the rain fall harder and louder. The blue sky almost completely grey now. 

The girl behind the counter smiled at me “You’re just in time, it seems” and she was right. Business men were walking around with their bags on their head, looking for some shelter. 

“It seems so” I asked her for a cappuccino and a brownie and paid right away. The old bell on the door kept ringing and ringing with every human sized sigh that walked in. Behind me a line was forming. People throwing their umbrellas against mine while wiping the rain off their face. The room became loud just by all the whines and breaths.

I sat down and watched the people silently. Everyone was busy and wet. They stood in a line but it was hard to believe they were actually planning on waiting. They wanted to get their orders as soon as possible. Some chatted about how terrible the weather was, or about how they were supposed to get home or to their girlfriend. Girls giggled or complained about how their hair was ruined now. Everyone seemed busy. 

Except from one man. He seemed to stare into the nothing, a little bit panicked. His eyes held options. Options he was choosing from right now, while awkwardly biting his thumb nail and looking from the counter to the door. Again and again. Not once did he look like he wanted to order any coffee. Well.. not completely true: I highly doubt I had seen a man look that tired. 

Then, with one last stare at the people who were busy with whatever they were doing, he turned and headed for the door again. Grabbing one umbrella on his way. The only umbrella that seemed quite dry. 

My umbrella. 

It took me a few seconds to realize that it was, really, mine. That someone would do that. Before I could even think about whether it was good move or not I stood up and started walking the same way. Of course it wasn’t a good idea. Who the hell would go off into the rain while they were planning on waiting until the rain had stopped anyway. Who the hell even cares about an umbrella? I didn’t. I really didn’t, but I just had to know what this guy’s problem was. 

So I ran after him. Completely drowned in seconds. I would get nothing out of it, I realized while running, still I kept running.  “Excuse me!” I pulled his shoulder. When he looked at me his eyes went wide in panic. “Could it be that.. that’s my umbrella?”  I must have looked so stupid for throwing polite questions while drowned and chasing someone. 

He stuttered while looked at the road “No.. Maybe we have the same one”

“I don’t think so”

He stared at me now. Finally. His eyes held an insane panic and he bit his fingernail like he had done before.  He was my age. His hair was dirty blonde and he had a good looking undercut. Bad Boy hair, maybe, then again it was fashion to have that kind of hair these days. “Is your name on it then?” And he was an asshole. An asshole with cheekbones and a jawline that belonged to a model, yet a posture that belonged to anyone who was insecure or tired. 

“Actually, ye-”

“Who the fuck does that?- You know never mind, I’m already fucking late” 

So now I was the bad guy. I don’t know why I had this habit of feeling guilty after doing something good but I had it.  “For what?”

“None of your fucking business”  He glared at me one more time.

He had deep light eyes that stood out because of his bags. 

I wondered how long this man hadn’t had any sleep. 

“I’ll walk you” 

“No thank you” 

I pushed my hand through my wet hair “Take it then.” 

“Why the fuck did you follow me through the rain then?” 

“I don’t know” I mumbled, and I really didn’t. I was wet and I knew that I couldn’t just take the umbrella he stole. I don’t know. I don’t know. I was weak. “Here” I handed him my business card, so that he could bring the umbrella back if he wanted to, or maybe because I just wanted an explanation as long as his life story. 

A life story for an umbrella. What kind of deal is that?

At this point I had turned around and I was walking to my apartment. The rain was pouring down on me yet I couldn’t bring myself to care and run. Maybe it’s weird to say, but I enjoyed walking through the rain like that. My mind wasn’t on my work anymore; it was with an handsome asshole who stole my umbrella. The umbrella stealer who had stolen my mind. 

That was what I needed. That was what I got. 

 

The next days I caught myself wondering when he would contact me, and I don’t know why I didn’t just wonder if he would contact me. The chance that he would was actually contact me was rather small. 

Still, on tuesday (he had stolen my umbrella on friday) I got a mail from a certain Jean Kirschtein, and soon enough I realised that that was him.    
The mail was completely straight forward, as if he was telling me exactly what he was thinking.  

 

_ Marco Bodt, _  it said.  

_ I would like to apologize for stealing your umbrella. I am usually not the kind of person to go stealing someone’s stuff, then again I’m not someone to write an apology letter either (even if I did steal something). Yet here I am, writing you.  _

_ It’s not that I didn’t have my reasons to steal your umbrella. The day that I stole it I had a job interview and I knew that I couldn’t show up completely drowned. Now I know that I could have called, or that I could have taken a cap but I tend to not waste my money on such things.  _ _  
_ _ I didn’t get the job. Maybe that was my bad Karma for stealing. I also think that this is a good reason for you to forgive me. It’s quite a soft punishment, I know.  _

_ Anyway, I said that I’m not someone to write an apology letter (or mail actually) so this must have made you wonder: ‘Why now?’ or ‘Why would you for this umbrella?’. The answer to that is easy:  you amazed me.  Who the hell runs into the pouring rain after some asshole to eventually say ‘take it’.  Why did you walk home in that rain while you could have taken a cap or the umbrella? I’m usually only stuck up for a few minutes so you could have won.  _

_ But you didn’t want to.  You never wanted to be right, you never saw it as a fight but you still walked after me. For what exactly?  _

_ It has been on my mind. You have been on my mind. _

_ Would you care to get some coffee sometime? I’d say ‘my treat’ but (obviously) I don’t have a job nor money.  _

_ That might be a little straightforward to you, but that’s the only thing I really wanted to say. This doesn’t mean that my apology is un-genuine, it just means that I wouldn’t have mailed you if I hadn’t been interested. _

_ Please let me know if you’d care to meet, _

_ Jean Kirschtein.  _

_ (Ps: I could bring your umbrella if you agree)  _

 

Let me ask you, reader, what do you do with such a letter?

Do you say ‘okay sure’ ? Do you get mad? Do you ignore it? I don’t know if I even wanted to ignore it. His words had been rude and straightforward but they were a lot like my thoughts; I was interested too. I wanted to know more about him. 

This should have made it easier for me to contact him. It didn’t. 

For a day I worked while checking my phone every other five minutes. Not because I was expecting something. Don’t get me wrong here. I did it just because I didn’t know what to do. As if my phone was going to tell me if I had to send him a message in return. 

As if my phone would just light up to tell me that-

Incoming call - Historia <3

That´s what it told me, and I was actually a little embarrassed because I never picked up my phone that quick. She must have noticed this too.  “Hey Darling, am I calling at a convenient time?”

I took a glance at my barely touched manuscript and took the coffee that was standing next to it so that I wouldn’t forget it. “Yeah”

Historia wanted to know how I was doing, because she hadn’t heard of me in a few days. Usually Historia and I called each other almost daily. She came to me with complaints about her wife, Ymir, but every complaint turned into a compliment and then suddenly she’d be breathless about her wife’s dumb or assholic moves. It always had me envious. 

“I’m alright. Having a hard time focussing on work”

“Did something happen?”

I sighed and took one sip of my coffee. “Did something happen.. Did something happen.. I don’t know Historia. You can barely call it ‘something’”

Her giggle galmed through the phone “Marco, something is not exactly hard to be. Literally anything can be something. So just fess up, you know I wouldn’t care”

“I know, Historia, I just think it’s stupid how obsessed I got with it.”

“With what?”

“With a look. With the way some guy stared at me like he was the biggest asshole in the world.”

She asked me about this guy. Was he someone I worked with? No. How did I meet him then? Why was he an asshole? Did I see him as a potential love interest? Maybe? That’s not an answer. Why maybe? 

“He stole my umbrella”

She laughed loudly “Your umbrella? How did that happen?”

“Well, it was raining and my umbrella was lying near the entrance of an cafe. Obviously.”  A snort.  “And then I ran after him into the rain but once I looked him into the eye I couldn’t do it anymore. I just told him that he could keep the umbrella.”

“And?”

“And? You’ve got nothing to say about how dumb I acted?”

Historia sighed “Good people often do weird things, darling. Being good means being different”

“Ah. Well.. at least he apologized.” I opened my computer and stared at it again. “He asked me to come meet him at the coffeeshop. I don’t know what to do. He’s kind of weird”

“What did I just tell you?”

“I don’t think it’s like that, Historia” 

She hummed and thought for a few seconds. I bit my lip and thought with her. “I think you should go” 

I didn’t understand her.  Friends are supposed to keep each other from criminals and weirdo’s. Is stealing someone's umbrella really a criminal act though? I don’t think so.  “I might”

But, at the end of the call I had decided to mail him back to tell him that I would go. Historia had a part in this, because she had seen me get too involved with someone I had never talked to before. 

I don’t know why I did that; falling for people I had only looked into the eyes of. Historia accepted me that way. “Just go see him. You’re not some teenage girl. If he’s a weirdo you kick his ass. If he turns out to be what his eyes tell you you kiss his ass. Simple as that”  she had said. 

I laughed at the thought and wondered if that was how she had thought when she was going to meet Ymir for the first time. Ymir was quite a handful too. Ymir looked dangerous. She was an ex-mma topsporter who had let her carreer go to start making art. Everyone loved her now, but they only wanted to look from far away. No one dared to get close to Ymir. Except from Historia. 

I’m not saying that I think Jean Kirschtein is like that. 

I’m not saying that I hope that getting coffee ends up like that. 

Still I mailed him back. Because of what?

 

It was a rainy thursday afternoon when we decided to meet. I was my own boss and he had no job so it was easily decided that in would be no saturday. He had said any day would have been fine for him over the mail. I wondered if he would make time for me.    
The rain hit my umbrella pretty hard. I could hear the raindrops fall through the Sarah Vaughan album I had playing loudly. It made quite the mood. Even if Jean Kirschtein would turn out to be as asshole, this walk would have made it worth it. Sarah Vaughan makes a lot of things worth it. Like life.    
I came to the shop before him, told the lady behind the counter I was waiting for someone and then sat down where I always sat. At the left table that with a window on the street side. I loved watching people walk by in a hurry. I loved seeing thousands of umbrellas passing by. 

Jean Kirschtein walked to the shop with my umbrella above his head. He was wearing a black sweater with an open neck, semi- skinny jeans and Dr.Martin’s. His frown was not an angry frown, it was a frown that fitted his face. It was an artistic and intelligent frown. Cocky too maybe.    
His frown faded when he saw me because he actually smiled a heartwarming smile. What I read from that smile was that he had expected that I wouldn’t show up. He was surprised that I was actually waiting for him.  “You brought an umbrella this time”  That’s how I greeted him. 

“You bought another one. I’m sorry.” He put the umbrella next to his chair. As if he was afraid that someone other than him would steal it this time. 

¨Oh no. I had more that one at my house” 

A soft silence fell while he sat down. He seemed to find it awkward, but I found it lovely to watch him struggling for something to say. He noticed “Are you enjoying that?”

“What?”

He smirked “Watching me like that”

“Yes. I enjoy it very much.” He smiled brightly and surprised. “What kind of drink are you going to get?” 

“Coffee” He let one hand slide through his hair. I closed the menu and ordered for the two of us. I ordered him a brownie, just hoping he’d like it. The lady behind the counter was sweet and shy. Mumbled that she would bring it in a minute with a shy smile. When I returned Jean had put his chin on his hand.  “So, what do you do, Marco Bodt” 

“I’m a translator of books.”

His face lit up “Really? What books? Which languages? So you’re actually a writer. You can only translate if you’re a writer right?”

The excitement washed over me. I had not expected him to get so excited about books. He looked like someone to read books though, I don’t know why I hadn’t seen it coming. “English and Italian” 

“That’s amazing man. That’s a very cool job” 

Through this conversation I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the same man who had send the emails and who had stolen my umbrella. He told be about his favourite books and explained why he associated himself with the beat generation writers. It was not just because he was gay- no- though that played a part in it. Gay literature is something that needs to be supported and if anyone was supported it was Allen Ginsberg. Oh boy, Jean Kirschtein could talk about books. 

“I feel like I never take a break from books” 

“You shouldn’t” He mumbled. 

My view of him slowly started to change. I had seen him as rude and cocky. I had expected him to have no interest in anything I was interested in.  “I majored in Philosophy with a science minor” he said somewhere in the conversation. 

“That’s pretty rare” 

He nodded brightly “Yes! I hope to get an opportunity to do the research I have been working on for myself and then to write a book about it. It’s just that I don’t work well together with my boss. They always call me self centered of cocky. They say that I need to get my head out of my ass and just do the research people need out of me.”  I chuckled. I could imagine someone telling him that just fine. “And if you only talk about your own research at job interviews they don’t exactly get more excited about hiring me”

He took a break from talking when the lady came to bring our drinks. I thanked her and he nodded weakly. “I bought that brownie for you too. Do you like those”

For a while I thought that his frown and stare meant that he wasn’t very happy with my choice but eventually he just said “Yeah I like it. Thanks.” 

“You sure?”

“I just can’t pay you back. That’s all”     
For a while we chatted about everything and nothing. Once in awhile he’d smile so brightly that it almost scared me. I took liking to him. He was casual about all his troubles and cocky about all his faults. Sometimes he’d blush at a question or at my words, completely surprising me (maybe even everyone in the cafe), and it made me want to hold him. 

When we finished our drinks it was still pouring. “I wasn’t expecting the rain to go on for so long” he sighed. 

“We can stay a little longer.” 

He shook his head and stood up. “I’ll just steal an umbrella. I do that, sometimes. ” The idiot couldn’t even keep himself from laughing at his own joke, still I wholeheartedly laughed with him.  “Nah man, I’ll just get a bus” 

“Ah! We.. We could go to my house and just relax” I don’t know what washed over me. Don’t even ask me.

He smiled and handed the umbrella he was still holding “Nah, sorry I’ve got a party. With free food.”  The words gave me enough to know that, if the party didn’t have free food, he would have given in. I wanted to tell him that I could cook for him too, but I didn’t want to push.  “You could totally come with me to the party though”

“Oh, no, wouldn’t that be very awkward?” 

He shrugged “Probably but like.. Free food and drinks” 

 

Alright. I gave in. I hadn’t seen enough of Jean. I wanted to know more, I needed more smiles and cocky jokes that made no sense. 

We left with two umbrellas and halfway we decided that we couldn’t talk and that we would poke someone’s eye out if we kept walking like that, so we closed one and started walking side by side. I believe that his right shoulder was still getting wet, just as my right shoulder was getting wet, but he didn’t bother to speak up about it.

“Fucking Autumn”

I smiled “Lovely isn’t it?” 

His frown quickly changed to a soft, non believing smile “Sometimes.” He sounded genuine. 

The house he lived in was a small house which he shared with three other people. They had one kitchen and one bathroom, but each one of them had two rooms of their own. One bigger one and one small one. But neither one of the rooms could ‘big’. Jean’s room seemed incomplete, but it was a nice place.  “I bet you’re room has lots of wood, books and cosy furniture” Jean had said when showing his room. 

“Well- I guess..” 

“You’re lucky”  He didn’t know why Jean said it like that; Jean could have styled his room the same way he had. He just hadn’t. 

“Sometimes” I mumbled, using his vague answer against him. 

The party was a 5 minute bus ride. It was slowly becoming darker (because that’s what autumn does to daytime) and a red light had covered London with warmth. The air was cold against my skin. Jean, who sat next to me, put his nose and mouth against the his scarf. “Fuck.”he mumbled softly while his eyes gave away that he was smiling. Jean’s hands disappeared into the pockets of his old suede jacket and I stared at the way they did, wishing I could warm them. I don’t really know why people always stare at people’s hands when they long after someone. At least, I don’t know why I do. I guess it’s because holding someone’s hand is the first step, and also a step I’m afraid of taking. Maybe, like a child, we want to hold what we are curious about. The phase of holding comes right before wanting to put things into your mouth.    
We haven’t changed much. “I want a cigarette”   
  


We smoked in front of the building together, smoking is an occasion thing to me and this was an occasion. We took shelter in front of the door of the small apartment building and watched the smoke as it mixed with the rain. Jean shivered. I wondered if he wanted my jacket, it was thinner than his and he was already wearing one. I didn’t mention it.  My mouth started moving, I caught myself telling a story about my youth in our small village. Jean nodded and mumbled that he grew up in an apartment with his mother. He smiled sweetly when he talked about his mother on rainy afternoons. She’d drink thousand cups of tea and he’d get warm chocolate. On rainy morning’s she’d always have soup ready and they’d sit against their heater because they didn’t have a fireplace.  The entire picture was so clear in my mind, and I imagined myself giving Jean soup and having him smile like that again. Having him smile was way too exciting.  “You done?”  

I nodded. 

 

The party was on the fifth and highest floor of the building. The building had no lifts so we walked the entire was. Both of us breathing heavily. “Maybe we shouldn’t smoke again.” I joked. 

“Maybe we should read less and sport more” We looked at each other, laughed, and walked on until we saw a small plate that said ‘Reiner and Berthold’. Reiner was the buffed one and Berthold the tall one, Jean had explained. I wondered if I could pull an ‘Jean talks a lot about you guys’ act to annoy Jean.    
The room smelled lightly of weed and soft classic rock was playing in the background. Jean had been right (even though he hadn’t said it like that), this was a party I’d actually enjoy. The blonde host greeted us wholeheartedly and insisted that the room wasn’t always filled with smoke like this. I didn’t mention that we could have smoked inside and nor did Jean, we had enjoyed smoking in the rain too much, probably. 

On the table stood eight empty beer bottles and in one of them stood a proud and cute flowers. I smiled at it and hoped no one had seen it (Jean had).  “MARCO!” came from the couch. When I turned to look at someone who knew me at this stranger’s party, I met two bright blue eyes, a bright smile, and seconds later a drunk angry lesbian. “I didn’t know that you know Reiner and Berthold! I’m glad to see you at a party once, you need to get out more”she laughed, slightly tipsy.    
“Oh I don’t.. And yeah I should.”   
Historia kissed me on my cheek and started asking me sweet Historia questions. Where had I been? Was I doing okay? Where did you get that lovely brown sweater? How did it end up with your Umbrella man?   
The last question was left unanswered. How could I? The question answered it’s self when Jean came walking up on us and shook hands with Ymir “Decided not to be pussywhipped today” he greeted. 

“Bitch, my girl can whip my pussy as much a she wantsta, you lonely fucker.” Ymir kissed her girlfriends hair “Baby, this is Jean”

“So this is Jean,” she looked at me, eyebrow raised “nice to finally meet you.” 

Luckily none of my other friends showed up at the party. For a while Jean and I sat on the carpet, just talking to Ymir and Historia. Once Historia had drunk enough she started telling Jean that I had called her while stressing about the ‘umbrella man’. She knew darn well Jean as him. “I told him that it would be fine if he followed his feelings, or something like that.” Jean laughed and nudged shoulder “You followed your feelings to hang out with me?” 

Luckily, none of my other friends decided to show up. For a while Jean and I just sat on the carpet, talking to Ymir and Historia, but after a while Jean and I moved to sit against an ice cold window. We were both wearing thick sweaters. The rain ticked against the window loudly and we watched the drops slide down slowly. Only we could hear each other’s voice over the loudness in the room. The ticking on the window, the classic rock, the voices, and the sirens outside. We raised our voice rarely, we just went to sit a little closer together as the we changed our coffee for wine. It was the kind of party where no one noticed two strangers getting insanely close, and if they did they wouldn’t care.

By the time people started leaving (and Jean and I finally felt like interrupting our conversation) the busses had stopped driving. This didn’t bother us all too much. We had talked for hours and Jean’s hand had slid over mine. He never held it. He just softly caressed it. And I have got to admit it: Jean was goddamn beautiful (not just handsome) when in darker rooms. 

¨You two can slouch on the couch for a few hours” Reiner mumbled while throwing a thin sheet. He didn’t actually care about whether we stayed or left. Both Reiner and Berthold disappeared into the bedroom and so we were alone.    
When the door closed Jean took off his shoes, placed himself on the couch with his knees close to him, and put his head on my shoulder. “Are you upset with me?” he asked. 

I shook my head and chuckled “Why?”

“I stole your umbrella” he smiled “It sounds kind of dumb when you say it like that but you know what I mean”

“I can hardly imagine what I thought of you before I met you. It doesn’t matter anymore” 

Jean kept his head on my shoulder so that I couldn’t look at him. “And what do you think of me now?”

I knew what I thought of him. I knew that what I thought of him was what he wanted me to think of him. It was all in the small things. In the way he looked at me and in the way he touched my hand, or even in the way he had mailed me. Still it was hard to say. It was something I couldn’t just bring to words. I’d waste your time trying to explain, we have all had moments like these. “I have.. Well.. Let’s just say that I think of you in a way that makes me want to sit with you more often” 

Jean smirked “To think that someone would ever enjoy my presence!”

“I never said that” I laughed. 

Jean pulled his head back and smirked at me as if he knew how the whole world came had become one. “You didn’t have to”

“Oh..”

“Can I kiss you?”

My eyes caught his and I stared into them as if trying to intimidate him. “Can’t you just hold my hand first, or something?”

“Not my style” He looked beautiful when he laughed. “It’ll be a soft peck.” 

“Sure”

He stared at me for what seemed like hours. He moved to my side a little bit, unsteady and drunk, but eventually he ended up laying on my lap. His lips were even farther away from me than before.  “Nah, nevermind”

I let my hand slide over his face. Nevermind was a fitting word indeed. My hand slid over his ears, studied his eyebrows, traveled along his nose and pecked his lips. He opened his mouth slightly, so that he could lick my finger.  “Jean”  He sucked on my finger as an reaction. Then he turned his face so that his nose was deep into my shirt. There was no doubt he could smell me perfectly. My second hand massaged his hair and head, trying not to grab other parts of his body.  “I think I want to go.”

“We could go to my place. I’ve got nothing against walking” Jean kissed my hand softly. “Actually, I really want to” 

 

When I came home I threw my jacket on a chair,  put the coffee water on and stared at myself in the mirror. I had bags under my eyes and my hair was silky. I looked happy. I laughed at myself.

Who would have thought. 

Damn who would have thought it would end up like this. 

I made a pile of stuff I had to translate. If I hadn’t been my own boss I would have been fired for staying away two days. The clock said four o’clock and I found it hard to believe that I had only gotten out of bed half an hour ago.    
The coffee machine stopped howling and spit out my cup of coffee. I opened my laptop and stared at all the Italian words in front of me. Then, as if I expected that someone actually noticed me being gone, I checked my mail. 

 

_ Jean Kirschtein. _   
  
I laughed. 

_ Dear Marco,   _

_ You forgot your umbrella at my place. It’s standing next to my door, again. I’m usually not the kind of person to write mails like this but then again, I’m also not the kind of person to fall in love on a first date. Shit happens.  I stole your umbrella and you stole my everything. That doesn’t seem very fair fair.  _

_ It feels fair though.  _

__ Anyway, I really enjoyed yesterday and today. I think that we switched up socks, btw. The ones I’m wearing are too big for me. Maybe we should keep our socks on next time. Just our socks; that would be a great sight.  
__  
__ I kind of want to bring your umbrella to your place. A little because I miss you, a little because I have had this umbrella for way too long now. The thing stares right through my soul without having eyes. Even though I like the way your nameplate hangs from the handle.  
__  
_ Please send me you adress so I can bring your umbrella. Maybe you can cook that lasagna you were talking about, and we could watch that movie you must see.  
_ __ Oh, and I’m sorry if this is the first thing you see when coming home. I swear I’m not that clingy. I just look forward to seeing you again. 

_ Yours,  _

_ Jean _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Please tell me what you think! :)


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